(We—) (—see—) answered the Talenki. (But our dilemma—) (—is no less—) (—we can only—) (—seek to know you—) (—and to let you—) (—know us.)
Before he could answer, the fog swirled up again, closing him off from sight but not sound, and he felt again something opening, accepting him . . . an entire people showing their hearts to him . . . and in their hearts were songs . . .
. . .not just their own, but of all the peoples with whom they linked across the reaches of space . . .
. . .and he listened, and judged, as the songs of their hearts reached into his own heart . . .
* * *
Jonders thought he could sit by this sea and listen to the water slapping against the shore forever. The sounds of the whales drifted off into the distance, still audible; but the whales were following their own course, coming and going from the center of the link. N'rrril sat by him, glancing his way once in a while, but mostly just giving him the comfort of his presence.
The fog scattered as a breeze picked up, here by this ocean of the mind. Another kind of music drifted across the air, this time the sound of a piano, and perhaps a guitar and drums. And a human voice. It was a song he thought he might have heard once or twice, an old song. The words echoed across the water, just audible:
"
You say that once you knew for sure
Now you're walking in the shore to wonder
The more you learn the less you know
The more you move the more you go to nowhere . . ."
Mozy's voice entered his thoughts, saying, (It's an old song they especially like. They say it's from the early days of rock-and-roll. I never heard it myself until I felt it in their memory.)
(But how do they know it?) he asked, wonderingly.
(From our radio. They've been listening from across the light-years. Our songs have carried farther than we know. It's one of the reasons they came.)
(Because of our music?)
(They love rock-and-roll,) Mozy said, thinking a smile. N'rrril stirred, and she spoke again, her tone changing. (Matters demand our attention. We must go. And so must you, soon.)
(How long have we been here?)
(Less time than you think. But your Hathorne will be wanting to give his thoughts to his people.)
Jonders nodded, wondering what Hathorne would say. (Mozy?) he said.
There was no answer. Mozy—and N'rrril—were gone.
He sighed and stared back out to sea, resting his chin in his hands. The song drifted across the water:
"
You ask the bird as she flies by
Just where she's at, and she says,
"Where the wind blows."
Ask her by that what she means
She says she doesn't know
But as she flew away she seemed to say
"The wind is . . .
"Love is the wind
Wind is my love
Who knows the wind?
Who knows my love?
Where blows the wind?
The wind is . . . my love."
It was as though a whirlpool drew them out of this world with a sudden irresistible suction and shot them through a hole in the universe into another reality.
Threads of light tangled their movement through the night. It took Jonders several long moments to regain his control, moments in which he felt the vertigo of free-fall; and then he realized what was happening and responded, slowing their movement and easing them upward through the layers of the computer link, severing the connection with the Talenki. The matrix of the computer reality receded, grew dim.
He opened his eyes, blinking against the light of the operations center. Figures were moving urgently around him, voices murmuring. Beside him, Hathorne was struggling to remove his helmet. Jonders waved away those who were trying to help him with his own. He lifted it with a sigh, nearly overcome by exhaustion and exhilaration. How long had they been in there, anyway?
His eyes focused on the chronometer as he checked over the board. Two hours and forty-seven minutes.
Impossible. The tachyon transmission cycle could not last that long. Had the Talenki maintained the link entirely from their own end?
He turned to speak to Hathorne—but the head of the Oversight Committee was already out of his seat, striding from the room.
The missile streaked silently across the star field. It was tracked well beyond the end of its powered flight, coasting wide of the target ship by several kilometers. Several more seconds passed, before the warhead exploded in deep space.
The
Indira Gandhi
shut down its main drive and ceased pursuit. The message had been delivered and understood.
* * *
Aquarius
jockeyed into station-keeping position near the Talenki asteroid. It remained fighting-ready, or as nearly so as possible, given the state of its fuel reserves. The automated tanker would be achieving rendezvous in a week or so; but in the meantime, the crew of
Aquarius
remained confident that their missiles could speak for themselves.
Ellis and Kouralt did not understand the reasoning behind the change in their orders; the strategic decisions were made by HQ, and little explanation had been offered. But their new mission, to defend the alien asteroid and to ensure it safe passage into near-Earth space, did seem strange.
They had requested coded confirmation twice, to be sure.
The Russian and Eastern ships, at the time, had been in superior tactical positions; but that situation had changed abruptly, as the asteroid, without warning, again shifted its course. The Easterners had attempted to pursue, a bit more vigorously than the Russians; but the warning shot across their bow had persuaded them to take seriously the American communiqué requesting them to stay clear. Eventually the Talenki had slipped back alongside
Aquarius
, in a maneuver that surprised Kouralt and Ellis as much as it must have stunned the crews of the other ships.
Ellis and Kouralt settled in for a watchful wait, training a camera on each of the other ships, and several cameras on their peculiar ward.
* * *
"That's your department," Hathorne said impatiently to a face in the telephone. "I don't care how you do it—but when they make orbit at L4, we're to be ready and waiting with shuttle service and a habitable shelter for up to a hundred people, plus equipment. I know L4's as far away as the moon. So what? Can you do it, or can't you?" He listened a moment longer, nodding and grunting, and then broke the connection. He sighed and turned to the next item on his desk.
There was no end to the details. In one short week, he had gone from being a strategist to being a manager. He hoped to get someone in here soon to help with the administrative load; but in the meantime, he had the Oversight Committee to keep happy, the President, the Congress, the commandant of the Space Forces, and heaven knew how many international bodies.
Truthfully, he would not have had it any other way. The vague misgivings which had lingered in his mind for a few days after the Committee's decision were now gone. The new orders were out to the fleet, the President had kept his word, and the Talenki had responded cheerfully to a request to fall in alongside
Aquarius
. They seemed to be picking up some understanding of Earthly protocol. In all, Hathorne felt vindicated in having called for the red-carpet treatment. Even General Armstead had not protested too gruffly; though suspicious, Armstead was a good soldier. And it wouldn't hurt, anyway, to have a few suspicious souls watchdogging the proceedings.
His greatest worry, after the President, had been the risk of armed confrontation with other nations. The warning shot fired by
Aquarius
hadn't done much for the cause of relations with the Eastern Alliance; but since no harm had come to the
Gandhi
or her crew, he was hopeful that the incident would blow over. The Oversight Committee had hastily arranged informational meetings to assure skeptical representatives of both the Eastern Alliance and the Russian Bloc that exchange with the Talenki would be shared commonly. Following a great deal of posturing on all sides, the other powers had agreed to permit the American escort to proceed unimpeded to the L4 orbit. Soon, he hoped, the Talenki would begin to participate in the negotiating process, once they better understood the situation they were facing.
In the meantime, he was snowed under, just trying to contend with the delegation of work. Hathorne closed his eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Just for a minute, he thought; it would not kill the world if he took just a few minutes to himself. Images kept swarming to the forefront of his consciousness . . . memories that would not go away.
Thoughts of a place that he would one day like to return to . . . thoughts of worlds, and feelings, that he would remember as long as he lived.
Frowning, he closed the office door, set the phone to "no calls," and sank back in his chair, eyes closed . . . and reached back for those images . . . .
* * *
Payne stretched, working the cramps out of his neck and shoulders. He felt satisfied with the evening's work. A preliminary script was ready for a sidebar on the Talenki's interest in popular music. This first piece was short, but he was already gathering information for a later, in-depth report.
"Are you busy?"
He looked up to see Denine standing in the doorway. "Hi." He pulled a second chair around beside his and patted the seat.
"I'm not interrupting you?"
"Nope. I just finished the prep for tomorrow. How you doing, kiddo?"
Denine sat in the chair, resting her hands in her lap, not meeting his eyes. "I've been thinking a lot about Mozy," she said. "And her family."
Payne ran a finger up and down his pant leg. "Did you get in touch with them?"
"Finally." Denine looked at her fingernails. "They were happy that she's still alive, of course—but confused. I think mainly confused." She looked up. "Mr. Moi died a few weeks ago, so it's been hard on them. I—well, I wish that she could have spoken with him somehow, before—"
Payne nodded, plucking at a spot of lint on his trousers. His brain was tired, and still in the tracks of his work. It was an effort to follow Denine's words. He ought to try to get some sleep tonight, he thought. Since the story had broken, the pace had been merciless. But if he wanted to stay ahead of the competition, he had to keep scrambling.
"Joe, I was thinking—"
He raised his eyes, realized he'd drifted off.
Denine scratched her collarbone. "About Mozy. And the link business. I was wondering—"
A half smile came to his lips. "I already asked."
Denine cocked her head.
"You want to know if you could link up with Mozy?" She nodded, and he continued, "I asked. They didn't exactly jump at the idea, I'm afraid. Maybe later, they said, when things have slowed down. Of course, if
Mozy
asked, that would be different."
Denine's eyes softened. "You asked, though. You knew I'd want to." She hugged him silently.
The phone chimed. Payne disengaged and twisted to answer. It was Teri Renshaw, in New Washington. "We just got some news from GEO-Four," Teri said, without preliminaries.
He sat up straighter.
"The federal judge there has dismissed all charges pertaining to the Tachylab conspiracy—citing lack of evidence and government improprieties." Teri glanced at her notes. "The federal prosecutor has also called for a grand jury investigation into Donny's death." She looked up. "We're making it our lead late story tonight."
Payne clenched a fist in triumph. Teri seemed for the first time to notice Denine beside him. She paused reflectively, and said, "I'll send you the full notes as soon as they're on line."
"That's terrific," he said.
Teri nodded. She seemed slightly ill at ease, her eyes glancing back and forth between Payne and Denine. "By the way, I hate to tell you this, but someone has to. Your ratings were off a quarter of a point yesterday."
"Damn," Payne said, shrugging.
"Well, you thrilled George when you scooped the rest of the world last week. Now he expects it every day."
"You set him straight, okay?"
"I will. Call you tomorrow." Teri smiled briefly at both of them, and the screen went blank. Payne rocked back in his chair, buoyed by the news about the Tachylab defendants.
"She's in love with you, isn't she?" Denine said.
Jolted back to reality, Payne cleared his throat, feeling blood rise to his face. "Not really," he said uncomfortably. He hadn't really gotten around yet to that long talk with Denine, he thought guiltily. It was about time—long past time.
"But she likes you a
lot
, doesn't she?" Denine said.
He shrugged uneasily. "Yeah."
Denine blinked. "I thought so. I mean—I've known for a long time." She pressed her lips together. "Suspected, anyway." Her eyes clouded, and she looked at her toes, extending and pointing her feet. "Listen. Whatever happened—"
He was silent. He didn't know what to say.
"Whatever happened—" she repeated, stalling. She sighed. "Well. We can talk about it if you want. It doesn't
have
to get in the way. Joe—"
"Yah." He extended a hand. "Yeah, let's talk."
She squeezed back tentatively. "Look, I—know that things weren't too great there for a while. I wasn't giving you much support, was I?"
"Dee. Don't blame yourself. It was my—"
"But I was feeling hurt because you weren't here—and you were always going down to New Wash, where that Teri is. And besides, I thought—I felt—"
He sighed. "Mozy?" he asked softly.
She nodded. "I guess I felt that you were exploiting her, a little. It wasn't reasonable, I know—I mean, here was a story you couldn't very well ignore—but there she was, dead and all—"
"It's true, though," Payne admitted. "That's the sort of thing the news thrives on."